


Homecoming

by S_G_M



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Kama Sutra, M/M, Sexting, Smut, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_G_M/pseuds/S_G_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10 % story, 90% porn.</p><p>John comes home from a week and a half away from 221 B Baker Street, having left Sherlock on his own.</p><p>When he arrives back, Sherlock is very happy to see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

John had been gone for the past week and a half, visiting some relatives in Wales that he hadn’t seen in years.

Sherlock had been left alone, which he had grown unaccustomed to and felt the void all the more deeply for it.

He found himself missing John more than he’d expected to.

The bed felt so much emptier without him.

Certainly, at first he had relished the extra room and had spread out contentedly.

But now, the bed just seemed too big without John.

He missed John’s cooking, the way that he got annoyed with Sherlock for spoiling the ending of a film, and the conversation.

Not to mention the lack of sex.

For the past two years he had been getting it quite regularly, and since he found it rather difficult to satisfy himself through masturbation, it had been all the more unpleasant.

It had not been an easy eleven days for Sherlock.

But, John was supposed to be home that afternoon.

Just a few more short hours.

Sherlock sighed, glancing at the clock.

On top of everything, there had been no hint of a case and he was bored out of his mind.

He tapped his fingers on his leg rhythmically, as he stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil.

Sherlock was never all that patient when it came to waiting, and it felt to him as though time itself were actually slowing.

Of course, that wasn’t possible in the least, despite how convincing it felt.

Damn it, when had he become so reliant on John?

It was almost nauseating…

Well, it would be if it weren’t so good.

The kettle whistled, jostling him out of his thoughts, and he poured the boiling water into his customary teacup.

He popped a tea bag into the water, letting it steep for the next few minutes before tossing it in the rubbish bin.

As he sat down at the table, he sipped his tea, trying to distract himself.

 

 

John stared out the window as the train to London sped down the track along the miles of countryside.

He checked the time.

13:24.

Another hour or so, and he’d be in London.

His uncle had been pleasant enough, and it had been quite a nice visit.

But, it felt good to be going home.

He knew that Sherlock had been missing him, as he’d missed Sherlock.

He’d been texting John off and on throughout the week and a half that he’d been gone, even going so far as to send him a few dirty pictures.

That had caught John off guard.

The first photo that Sherlock had sent had arrived while he was having dinner with his uncle and the family.

He’d heard the alert go off, and decided to check his mobile.

A very clear picture of Sherlock’s hard, leaking cock is what greeted John’s eyes.

John had quite nearly choked on his stew, making most of the others stare.

He hadn’t gone that red in a very long time.

John felt a stir in his pants as he recalled those photographs.

He shifted, crossing his legs so as not to attract unwanted attention from the other passengers.

 

 

With nothing else to do, Sherlock tidied the flat a bit.

He hoovered, mopped and did the dishes.

Sherlock checked the time - 14:10.

John would be home any time, now.

Sherlock lay on the couch, closing his eyes and clearing his mind as best he could.

Which wasn’t terribly much.

His thoughts were constantly racing, and John was the only one who seemed to be able to quiet them.

Just as he was beginning to calm his thoughts as much as was possible, he heard a key slide into the deadbolt.

John.

Sherlock sat up, and waited for the door to open, trying to make it seem like he hadn’t been just waiting like a dog does for it’s master.

The door was unlocked, and swung open.

John walked into the flat, carrying his luggage.

“Hello, Sherlock.” He greeted warmly, making his way into the den.

Sherlock stood up, and without a word, went over and embraced John tightly.

John chuckled.

“I missed you, too, Sherlock.” He said with a grin.

John hugged him back, and they were quiet for a moment, just content to hold one another.

They let go, and Sherlock leaned in for a kiss.

John heard a metal clinking.

“You’re wearing the birthday gift I gave you.” John said happily.

Sherlock had a fetish for John wearing his army fatigues, especially his dog tags, and often asked John to wear a piece of his old uniform as they made love.

And so, when Sherlock’s birthday came, he was entirely pleased to find that John had given him an exact replica of his dog tags.

“I’ve not taken them off.” Sherlock responded.

And he hadn’t.

He was wearing them as some people wear an engagement ring.

John chuckled, pleased that Sherlock had liked his little gift so much.

John closed the rest of the gap between them, and they kissed deeply, exploring one another’s mouths as though it had been far longer than a mere eleven days.

Sherlock moaned softly into John’s mouth, as he felt John’s hand cup his crotch.

He was already half-hard, and John was coaxing him into a full erection with a skillful hand.

Sherlock sucked at John’s bottom lip, as he concentrated on John’s touch, letting the need fill him up entirely until this alone was no longer nearly enough.

He picked John up and carried him dutifully to the bedroom, walking a little awkwardly.

John barely contained his laughter.

Sherlock set him down on the bed, and pulled John’s particularly hideous jumper up and over his head before setting to work on removing John’s brown trousers.

He pulled them off to reveal bright neon orange y-fronts.

“What the hell are those?” Sherlock asked, pointing at them.

John blushed.

“Oh, just something I picked up on my trip… You don’t like them, do you?” John asked.

Sherlock gave a wicked little grin.

“I think I’d like them better on the floor.” He answered, before pulling them down with his teeth, revealing John’s stiff cock.

Sherlock tossed the tacky orange underwear on the floor, running his hands all over John’s body.

John shivered at Sherlock’s touch, groaning as Sherlock applied some to the begging appendage, sliding his hand up and down slowly.

John bit his lip.

Sherlock brought him to near orgasm twice, before lubricating John’s tight hole, teasing with his fingers.

He slipped a finger inside, brushing softly against John’s prostate, causing John to buck his hips suddenly.

Sherlock was pleased.

“Spread your legs.” Sherlock said softly, and John complied eagerly.

Sherlock kneeled between John’s open legs, and lifted John’s hips up above the bed, penetrating him slowly.

John’s eyes widened at both the depth of Sherlock’s stroke, and the sudden introduction of a new position.

With each stroke, Sherlock’s thick cock rubbed deliciously against John’s prostate.

As Sherlock thrust deeply into him, John reached up and began to touch himself.

Sherlock's dog tags jangled, swinging as he moved inside John.

“Oh, fuck…” John moaned, feeling so good.

With every movement that Sherlock made, a sweet jolt of electricity began to pulse throughout his body.

Dull throbs of pleasure turned into a full on storm of intense sexual gratification.

“Fuck, shit… Oh, FUCK, Sherlock…” John gasped as he reached the brink. “Fuck me harder, Sherlock!”

Sherlock quickened his pace, shagging John with such force that the bed frame thumped noisily against the wall.

Luckily, their bedroom wall didn’t connect to another tenant’s flat.

“Mmmmm, oh, yes, Sherlock!” John cried, spurting onto his own chest, cock twitching. “Fuck, yes!”

Sherlock slowed his pace as the aftershocks of John’s orgasm set in.

He didn’t want to make John oversensitive, and he wasn’t close yet.

When John was finished, he slowly pulled out, setting John’s hips back on the bed.

John lay there panting, having had one of the strongest climaxes he’d had in his life.

A few minutes later, he beckoned to Sherlock.

“Straddle my chest.” He said.

Sherlock climbed over John, obeying.

John put a bit of lube in his hands and rubbed them together.

He wrapped both hands around Sherlock’s aching member, and began pumping away, wanting Sherlock to come.

He moved his hands in the way that Sherlock liked, making him moan with the sensation.

“Come for me, Sherlock…” John encouraged, as Sherlock began bucking his hips ever so slightly, crinkling his brow in that telltale way that indicated he was on the brink.

And suddenly, he came hard. Thick ropes of creamy white cum came shooting out onto John’s chest and throat, some landing on his right cheek.

He shuddered as he felt the explosion rock throughout his body, moaning John’s name almost nonsensically.

John relinquished his grip on Sherlock, who slid off, landing softly beside his lover.

He cuddled up to John, and they silently savoured the afterglow before drifting into a fitful slumber.


End file.
